L'alito freddo e umido m'assale
di Venezia autunnale,
Adesso che l'estate,
sudaticcia e sciroccosa,
d'incanto se n'è andata,
una rigida luna settembrina
risplende, piena di funesti presagi,
sulla città d'acque e di pietre
che rivela il suo volto di medusa
contagiosa e malefica.
Marco Ortolan | The Venetian Mask
Morto è il silenzio dei canali fetidi,
sotto la luna acquosa,
in ciascuno dei quali
par che dorma il cadavere d'Ofelia:
tombe sparse di fiori
marci e d'altre immondizie vegetali,
dove passa sciacquando
il fantasma del gondoliere.
Carlo Bossoli | Waiting up for him, Venice, 1849
O notti veneziane,
senza canto di galli,
senza voci di fontane,
tetre notti lagunari
cui nessun tenero bisbiglio anima,
case torve, gelose,
a picco sui canali,
dormenti senza respiro,
io v'ho sul cuore adesso più che mai.
Charles Cushing | Venetian Capriccio with Giant Lantern
Qui non i venti impetuosi e funebri
del settembre montanino,
non odor di vendemmia, non lavacri
di piogge lacrimose,
non fragore di foglie che cadono.
Un ciuffo d'erba che ingiallisce e muore
su un davanzale
è tutto l'autunno veneziano.
Così a Venezia le stagioni delirano.
Pei suoi campi di marmo e i suoi canali
non son che luci smarrite,
luci che sognano la buona terra
odorosa e fruttifera.
Solo il naufragio invernale conviene
a questa città che non vive,
che non fiorisce,
se non quale una nave in fondo al mare.
Tratte da "Poesie", 1942
Arcimboldo Giuseppe | Autumn, 1573, Louvre Museum, Paris
Vincenzo Cardarelli | Venetian Autumn
Upon me is the humid and cold breath
of autumnal Venice.
Now that Summer,
sultry and touched by Sirocco,
like magic has gone,
a stern moon of September
shines, full of dire forebode,
on the city of waters and stones
which reveals her features of Gorgon,
contagious and wicked.
Dead is the silence of the canals which reek,
under the watery moon,
in any one of them seems to
rest the corpse of Ophelia:
tombs covered with rotten flowers
and other green wastes,
where passes by, with a swash,
the ghost of the gondolier.
Luca Carlevaris | A coastal landscape with figures conversing on the harbour | Christie's
Oh Venetian nights,
without the crow of roosters,
without voices of fountains,
somber laguna-nights,
that no tender whisper soothes,
sinister houses, jealous,
vertical on the canals,
asleep without breath,
you weigh on my heart more than ever.
Here, no impetuous and funereal winds
of a September in the mountains,
no odor of grapes harvest, no wash-basins
of tearful rains,
no crash of leaves that fall.
Charles Cushing | Fireworks Over Maria della Salute,Venice, Italy
A tussock that turns yellow and dies
on a window's ledge
is all it is a Venetian Autumn.
Thus, in Venice seasons are delirious.
Throughout her fields of marble and her canals
all is but disoriented lights,
lights which dream of a good earth
that is fragrant and fruitful.
Only a winter shipwreck convenes
to this city which lives not,
which blooms not,
other than like a ship does in the bottom of the sea.
From the collection "Poesie," 1942
Ippolito Caffi | Piazza San Marco in Venice in the moonlight
Vincenzo Cardarelli, pseudonym of Nazareno Caldarelli (1887-1959) was an Italian poet and a journalist.
Cardarelli was born in Corneto, Lazio, in a family of Marche origin.
His father was Antonio Romagnoli.
His studies were irregular and he applied to different jobs.
In 1906, when he had moved to Rome, he began his career as a journalist.
Cardarelli published articles in the Bologna-based literary magazine La Raccolta between 1918 and 1919.
He created, in 1919 with Riccardo Bacchelli and Emilio Cecchi, the prestigious review La Ronda (1919-1922).
He was one of the contributors of the Fascist daily Il Tevere.
Carderelli won two literary awards, including the 1929 Premio Bagutta for Il Sole a picco and the 1948 Premio Strega for Villa Tarantola.
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